Flashpoint
by chgirl
Summary: Alex makes an interesting purchase. Not too fluffy...OK, well, maybe it is.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters, I'm just having fun -- they belong to Dick Wolf.

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**Flash Point**

**Chapter 1**

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Alex stood in the hotel gift shop and looked in disbelief at the only swimsuit selection that was even remotely close to her size: a skimpy, neon red, vinyl-looking number, with a postage stamp-size bra top and a bottom only a few inches shy of thong status. _Get real, Alex – the hotel buyer obviously thought that anyone of this size would be under the age of 18._ _Could you really go out in public in that thing!?_ she asked herself.

Well, if wearing this silly suit was the only way she could take advantage of that beautiful hot tub in the hotel's courtyard, then the answer to her question was a resounding Yes -- she was not going to forego a soak in a hot tub if she could help it. And so she splurged and paid the outrageous price for what she knew would be a one-time wearing, and hurried back to her room to change.

As she travelled back up the elevator to her room, she mused that she was grateful to find herself in this predicament at all. An unexpected delay in a case had necessitated their impromptu overnight stay in Buffalo. All the inexpensive places in town were booked solid (something about a large dog show in town for the week), and so she and Goren found themselves sitting pretty in a deluxe hotel – well, deluxe by NYPD standards, certainly – with spectacular indoor gardens surrounding a slate pool and a spacious hot tub. Since they had expected to fly right in and right out, neither of them had an overnight bag along. An occurrence like this would usually only require a toothbrush from the front desk, but that hot tub represented a little luxury that she just couldn't, wouldn't pass up.

Back in her room, Alex rummaged through the tissue paper and retrieved the impossibly small garment. After changing, she shrugged back into her shirt and dark jeans, draped a pool towel around her neck, and padded down to the elevator in bare feet, clutching an extra towel to her chest. She didn't bother to bring any reading material – she envisioned just closing her eyes, drifting and relaxing until her fingers and toes turned into prunes. She was eternally grateful that Bobby told her he was looking forward to catching up on his reading this evening, and had declined over dinner to do anything afterward. One sight of her in this ridiculous getup and she'd never live it down.

She approached the pool area and breathed a sigh of relief after a quick glance at the empty hot tub. Well, she should have expected as much. They had finished work late in the day, which had meant a late dinner, and now at this hour there was of course no one to be seen in the public areas of the hotel. _Well thank heavens for small favors_, she thought, _at least I don't have to worry about being seen by anyone._ The closest lounge chair was several yards away, and she dropped her towels on it. She quickly stripped off her shirt and wriggled out of her pants, and sighed and shook her head as she looked down at her exotic-dancer-like garb. _Oh well, it can't be helped._

She reached up to twist her hair into a knot, high enough to keep her hair out of the water. She then adjusted her top as best she could since it was far too small, ran two fingers of each hand under both sides of the back of her bikini bottom to reverse its inevitable rise up her buttocks (_this suit definitely thinks it's a thong)_, and started towards the hot tub. As she turned, she heard a small watery noise, and her head instantly whipped the rest of the way around.

She froze in horror.

Bobby was emerging from what must have been a prolonged submersion, shaking water from his head. Spluttering a little, he wiped the water from his face before pushing his soaking hair back.

And opened his eyes.

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_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, I'm just having fun -- they belong to Dick Wolf.

Reviews are always welcomed~

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**Flash Point**

**Chapter 2**

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_Doesn't it just figure_, she thought. She saw his nearby glass of scotch and the book, which previously she had neglected to notice, lying on the cement near his head. _Who knew, when he said reading, that he meant IN THE HOT TUB! !_

Bobby blinked in frank disbelief. His mouth hung open, slack-jawed, at what appeared to be an apparition out of one of his wildest (albeit rare) fantasies: Eames, smokin' hot, dressed in a tiny, shiny, bright red bathing suit. His expression told her that he had definitely registered what she was wearing, and she instantly felt her ears and cheeks redden with humiliation. She reached back and grabbed her towel around her, but realized that he'd already seen everything he needed to see to make her life a living hell. _No doubt burned into his vast memory banks already, _she thought wryly.

As his disbelief gave way to blatant admiration, that crooked smile of his slowly appeared and quickly broadened, and finally he threw his head back and actually laughed out loud.

She knew she was in for it now.

"I . . . always thought you'd be more of a Speedo girl," he drawled.

"Please tell me you're not a Speedo guy," she shot back.

He laughed again. "Nope, this must be my lucky day," he grinned. "I conveniently find a pair of gym shorts wadded up in my briefcase, and I see you in . . . that…?!" He gestured toward her.

She pulled her mouth tight and grimaced. "I wasn't quite so lucky. I was forced to rely on the selection here at the hotel, and it isn't quite what one would hope."

Bobby laughed back, "Depends who's hoping!" He tried to look serious for a moment. "I don't know, Eames – don't sell yourself short. I think this could be a whole new look for you. Looks like those years on Vice really paid off!" He smirked, then laughed again.

"Not another word, Goren," she growled, as she sank down on the lounger. "Are you getting out soon?"

He shook his head. "Wasn't planning on it -- I just got in about five minutes ago." He leaned back, arms stretched over the sides of the tub, hands flat on the tiles. He arched his eyebrows and continued to beam at her as he gestured toward the water. "Don't be shy – it's a big one."

"HOT TUB," he hastily added, feeling himself color slightly at his choice of words.

She glared back at him scornfully, then reached for her clothes with a look of disappointment and resignation. "Ring my room when you get out," she said as she gathered her things and wrapped the towel a little tighter. There was no way she was giving him another eyeful.

Now it was his turn to look disappointed. His palms opened towards her. "Hey, Eames, come on. I don't want to ruin your plans," he said. "If it makes you feel better, I'll turn my head and promise not to look --"

"-- much," he finished, and sheepishly grinned again. He was finding it impossible not to tease her, since she was so uncharacteristically off her game. More importantly, teasing served to cover for the fact that he was secretly pleased at the prospect of being in such… an informal setting with her.

She looked over at the water. She really did want to go in. Sure, her sister had a hot tub, but it wasn't quite the same when there were rubber sharks and boats and splashing children and ringing telephones and chatty sisters in the mix. Of course, soaking with Bobby wasn't exactly what she would consider relaxing, either . . . dangerous was more like it, what with all that underlying sexual tension and all.

But the sensible side of her brain brought her up short. _Alex Eames, you face down danger practically every day; you've shot people, for heaven's sakes. Are you going to let a little self-consciousness prevent you from doing something this simple? Take off that towel and stop acting stupid! It's just Bobby. Think about it – it's just Bobby. You see him every day, this is no big deal._

And that's when she knew she was kidding herself, because this was a big deal _precisely_ because this was Bobby. But she got a grip in spite of (or maybe because of) it, unwrapped her towel, dropped it to the ground and moved purposefully toward the steps.

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He was dutifully looking away as he had (sort of) promised (but he couldn't help it -- he had snuck another quick glance hoping she wasn't aware of it), but he tensed up as she approached. Alex felt the cold steel of the railing brush her palm as her foot reached down, and she finally touched the steaming water. _Ahhh, heaven._

And then everything hit the fan.

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It happened so fast yet it felt like slow motion: her feet practically flew out from under her, and she dropped straight back; the railing never fully in her grasp, her arms pin-wheeled as she heard water splashing all around her, and she saw the courtyard trees looming overhead. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting any moment to feel the edge of the pool meet the back of her head with a sickening thud.

But that didn't happen. Instead, she felt her momentum abruptly cease as _(Bobby's!)_ arms firmly cushioned the back of her head and torso. He must have virtually leapt across the pool to make it to her in time. She opened her eyes, and looked up to see his eyes darting up and down, trying to assure himself that he'd actually caught her before she got hurt at all. He leaned his furrowed forehead to rest on hers with a small smile of relief. "You're okay. . .?" More of a statement than a question.

The next moment his hands were caressing her face and head, tangling his fingers so hard in her hair as he kissed her that it almost hurt. On some level she always knew it would be like this: that one tiny triggering event would ignite what smoldered between them. Think vaporized gasoline and an infinitesimal spark from a set of keys dropping to the pavement. Or falling bodies and the arms that catch them.

_Zero to sixty, baby. _

They pressed up against one another in the water, hair and faces soaking wet. She faintly tasted his scotch, inhaled his familiar scent mixed with the overpowering smell of chlorine in the pool water, as she pressed her lips to his wet neck. The thought crossed his mind that she was really kissing him, that he was really kissing Alex, her soft hair was in his hands, and that in a million years he couldn't have foreseen any of this when he woke up alone this morning.

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After what seemed like hours later, they pulled back. A small piece of cellophane from some careless guest's Fig Newton wrapper floated nearby, the obvious culprit in her hair-trigger descent. She scooped the slippery scrap up with her finger and examined it.

"I guess it was my lucky day after all." She smiled at him, a little breathless.

He smiled back. "I guess it was."

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End file.
